


Gravity

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Purgatory, Season 8 ep 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:24:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't an outright "story" -- it's more like a missing behind the scenes snippet/commentary. I *really* didn't like Sam's OOC portrayal and am still trying to "fix it" so that I can deal.</p><p>"Gravity" is the first bit I've shared via a public forum. Constructive feedback is always appreciated. </p><p>Disclosure: Fanfic, no profit being made, etc. Supernatural belongs to the CW, so these characters aren't mine. If they were, I can guarantee that S08 would have gone differently. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

To say that Dean’s return – from Purgatory, no less – was a surprise to Sam is an understatement, yet it shouldn’t have been. As soon as Dean tackled him, as soon as Sam saw the glint in those green eyes, felt the warmth of his skin, Sam knew. He had, once again, done the exact opposite of what his brother would have done – what his brother did do, he reflected, remembering how Dean had searched for a way to free Sam from Hell even while supposedly making a life with Lisa and Ben. 

It was too late to do what hadn’t been done. To be honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to still. Without Dean, Sam felt lost – fragmented, disintegrated – but with Dean there, Sam was constantly measuring himself against his brother and failing to measure up. Sam always had trouble seeing the truth of things.  


Sam had mourned Dean’s loss, recognized what a great man and a wonderful brother Dean was. And he’d realized what he hadn’t told Dean nearly enough. And he remembered the harsher cracks he’d made about Dean’s arcane pop culture knowledge, his bad jokes, his false bravado, his dislike of research and sedentary tasks, even about his relationships – all comments that, Sam knew, did nothing but feed his brother’s insecurities. 

Dean had a memory as long as an elephant, and he used words to keep his emotions at bay. Sam knew this, yet he allowed Dean’s words to wound him; he wanted Dean’s words to wound. Then, at least, Sam could join his brother in the self-flagellation that Sam knew those conversations really were. For if Dean was bitching about Sam screwing up – like him trusting Ruby over his brother – Sam knew that Dean was just picking at a scab on his own heart, reopening a wound that had more to do with Dean’s failure to earn Sam’s trust than Sam giving his trust to someone else. Sam couldn’t bear to see that, to acknowledge that his brother’s self-worth was so tied to his state of being, so he would accuse Dean of belittling him, of attacking, of trying to destroy. All of which only created more cracks in Dean’s heart, which was – by far – the largest heart Sam had ever known. 

Sam had always told himself that Dean thought of himself as perfect. Sam knew this was mostly, if not entirely, a lie. Dean might be the Righteous Man, but he’d managed to piss off Heaven, Hell, and damn near everyone in between. Dean considered his ability to anger all known forces in the universe as a badge of honor. And he wasn’t above pulling “dick moves” to get what he wanted. When he wanted to say “yes” to Michael, for instance, Dean had intentionally pulled every underhanded, ass-holish move he could think of to anger Sam, Cas, and Bobby enough that they’d just stop trying so fucking hard to save him. To make them let him go. They had held on so tightly that he found himself holding back. And in the end, Dean hadn’t been allowed to sacrifice himself to save those he loved. Sam had done that instead, leaving Dean to live in a world without his brother for over a year. Soul-less Sam or not, Sam knew he couldn’t shuck off that decision easily.

Sam barely heard his brother’s words as he told the story of being in Purgatory. Purgatory. The word alone was enough to make Sam shudder, and his brother had managed to survive a landscape of monsters and abominations and make his way home. He was both proud of him and terrified. He watched Dean’s lips move and felt the reverberations of his brother’s deep voice ripple through the room. He wanted to feel soothed, to feel relief at having his big brother back.  


Instead, though, he felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, his failures laid bare. He had been without Dean for over a year, but he hadn’t looked. He’d meant to. He’d fixed the car as a labor of love, often having to stop as tears obscured his vision. And then he’d started driving, seeking a direction. And then he hit a dog, and slipped further into the black hole that ate away at who he was – Winchester, brother of Dean, son of John, destroyer, savior, vessel for Lucifer.

Dean was his center of gravity. Sitting here across from his brother, he realized that more than ever. Felt it in the waves of assurance and reassurance that radiated off of Dean in waves. For whatever Dean had gone through in Purgatory, it had strengthened him – even Sam could see the even-brighter shine of his soul. Dean only faltered when Cas was mentioned, betraying that cracks remained in his armor, and this particular crack was fundamental. And then Sam couldn’t resist pressing his brother, telling himself that he was just asking about a friend, not pressing salt into fresh wounds, not reminding himself that Dean was still the flawed man he’d always been.

Sam only let up when Dean gruffly but flatly stated, “I saw enough, Sam.” They’d been apart for a year, but Sam still recognized the underlying threat there, the stop asking me questions before I kick your ass tone. Considering how twitchy Dean was, how tense, how feral…. Well, Sam didn’t want to go there. 

In the wee hours of the morning, the brothers pretended to sleep. Dean was still on Purgatory time, alert and untrusting of his present reality. Sam could feel his brother staring into darkness, and he started to say something, to spark hours of telling stories and dirty jokes, as they’d often done when they were kids and couldn’t sleep. But Sam was too worn. He should have felt rejuvenated and thrilled at having Dean back, and at some level he did. But he also felt a dark bubble of resentment working its way through his soul; the realization shamed him, yet it didn’t make the bubble go away. 

Ever since that fateful night in the nursery, Dean had always been there – Sam’s constant, his touchstone when he’d allow him to be. This had been an absolute truth in Sam’s life. Not for the first time, he realized that the reverse was not truth. Sam hated being shown his lack, his failures, especially by Dean who was, quite simply, just Dean. Younger versions of his brother had pretended through the pain, putting on a cocky face and jeering at whatever recent horror life had thrown at the Winchesters – until Cas had died (again). Seeing Dean’s disintegration, which had made his prelude to being dragged to hell look like a cakewalk, had stricken Sam to his core; he’d been forced to realize that there were others in Dean’s orbit whose loss could disrupt his axis, which terrified Sam. Though Sam pushed against Dean as much as he pulled him back, he had realized then that losing Dean would unbalance his life in ways he couldn’t imagine. He hadn’t been wrong.

“You’re thinking too loud, Sam,” Dean said into the darkness. 

“Whatever,” Sam muttered. 

Dean heard Sam burrow deeper into the covers and listened to his brother’s breathing, which clearly betrayed Sam’s upset. He was feeling his own – knowing that Sammy hadn’t looked for him… well, that hurt. No – it did more than that; it split him to his very core. Part of him wanted to beat the shit out of his little brother for being a douche, but the larger part of him was so grateful to be topside, to be in the same room with Sam, that he decided to do what he’d always done: Box it up and put it away. He’d deal with it later. Tonight, he was with his brother, and they were both alive. For now, that would have to be enough. 

Dean always had trouble seeing the truth of things too, though. Neither brother realized that in this moment, on this night, they could have shifted their pattern forever. Instead, they resigned themselves to more of the same. Dean squelched emotions that would eventually burst out, most likely through violence, and Sam would continue to act like a little brother, one trapped between petulant adolescence and true adulthood, never realizing that the person standing in front of himself wasn't Dean; it was Sam. 

Dean saw himself as bound by fate to keep the family together, to continue the Winchester tradition of hunting people, of saving things. 

Sam saw himself as forced by fate to exist in whatever path Dean’s pull of gravity determined. 

Frustratingly, neither realized – still – that they were twin Winchesterian suns, equal in ferocity and brightness, traveling their orbit together.


End file.
